The Egress
by Evanescently
Summary: After surviving so many life-threatening scenarios, Frank and Karen shared a bond no person could express with words. There's love there, but exactly what kind? After months of radio silence, Frank visits her. This could be her last chance to clear the air. She needs answers. Hell, she needs closure. Set after Season 1 of The Punisher. Complete.
1. The Look

**A/N:** Set after Season 1 of The Punisher, a couple months after Frank is exonerated. Tension between Frank and Karen. There's love there, but exactly what kind?  
 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing!

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The Look

Every news outlet, website, and paper had been running the story for nigh on three months now. "Frank Castle: Exonerated", "Frank Castle's Redemption", "Frank Castle: The True Story". Her name had also made the headlines. At first, writers had spun a story about how Frank and Lewis were partners in bombing New York; how two men formerly in the military had come after Senator Ori for his anti-gun campaign, even entertaining the idea that Karen was also targeted because of her personal, acerbic, and very public response to Lewis's manifesto. After Frank's exoneration, however, writers morphed their stories into a tale of compassion, prophesying that it was no coincidence he and Karen were in the same building at the same time that the bomber was there. Many reporters suspected that Frank had stormed the building with one objective in mind: to stop Lewis and save Karen. The leaks from the NYPD, probably Detective Sergeant Brett Mahoney, suspecting as much hadn't helped either. When the press was running Frank's trial almost a year ago, several "sources" discussed how adamant Karen had been about The Punisher's true and heroic nature when she worked as a secretary for Nelson and Murdoch. It hadn't taken a genius to connect that the two of them probably bonded in some way. They certainly were not wrong.

Watching other writers try to piece his and her story together had been more than a little amusing, Karen thought. And while she did not mind the publicity overmuch, especially considering how her work would be held in higher esteem after such a national case and her recognition of believing in a wronged man, Karen knew all of this attention would not sit well with Frank.

He was the kind of man who would be completely entertained with a carving knife, a fishing rod with some bait, and a boat. But then, Frank had always been a simple man with simple taste.

It had also been amusing watching the paparazzi try to hunt him down for countless interviews, exposés, and juicy gossip. As if civilians could effectively track a trained Special Forces Scout Sniper. Since every one of their leads on his whereabouts would turn up dry, Karen often found them clawing for _her_ just outside her apartment building. While that had been interesting for the first week or two, now it had grown into a nuisance.

Despite such a well staked-out location by publicity vultures, Karen had secretly hoped that Frank would show up at her apartment. She knew it seemed far-fetched, but simply knowing he was alive did not satisfy her. They had gone through several life and death scenarios, each one more trying than the last; each one barely making it out alive. As far as she was concerned, he owed her another visit – at least one more before probably disappearing forever.

Unclicking the seatbelt of the police car, Karen stepped out into a mob of people as she walked through the sea of paparazzi. One night, the crowd had gotten so bad outside her apartment that a man yanked at her purse to goad her into swiveling around for a photo. She reflexively reached for her gun, and her expression must have been cool as ice. The man – and several other people – had raised their hands disarmingly. It took her another moment to realize that she didn't just reach for her gun. It was drawn and the safety clicked off, though not pointing directly at them. After that, there was a group of NYPD officers who would escort her to the apartment building door.

As they reached the base of the steps, Karen thanked them with a curt nod and walked up the flight of stairs. Exhausted from the work week, she imagined a hot shower and several beers were next on the menu. As she approached her apartment door, a small card was wedged into the space where the door met the wall. Annoyed, she figured it was someone trying to sneak into her building and leave a business card on her door to "get in touch for her exclusive interview", well paid and all that. She reached for it and turned it over.

 _Still got that hand cannon?_

Her heart stopped. A memory of Frank in a black ball cap wrapped in a blanket "begging" for some spare change flashed through her mind. That was the first time she'd seen him in months, and before that she didn't even know if he was truly still alive.

Deliberately and noisily feeding the key into the key hole, she opened the door cautiously and locked it behind her. The apartment was pitch black. She didn't know why, but her heart was racing. _Scared? No. It was…_

 _Anticipation. Even excitement._

She turned on the nearest lamp and saw a dark figure sitting on her couch. His hoodie was pushed back, face still recovering from its monumental beating, but he was unmistakable.

"Frank," Karen breathed.

He allowed himself a small smile, but it was fast-concealed by his traditional hard exterior a second later.

"Miss Page."

She balked at the formal title, but sent him a glowing smile nonetheless. "What's with the note?" she waved the blank business card at him.

He opened his hands. "Considering the last time I came to visit your apartment unannounced you threatened to unload your whole magazine into my chest, I figured it would be preferable to give you a heads up this time."

Karen chuckled, "Very wise." Then, more sober, "I wasn't sure I'd see you again."

He shrugged, "You said you wanted to see me again when we spoke along the Hudson and you told me about Lieberman. 'Believe it or not, I still care what happens to you, which makes precisely one of us' was your exact wording, I believe. Those words still hold true?" Mischief played at the corner of his mouth again. He must be having a good day.

Karen, returning the smirk, rolled her eyes. "You're such an ass."

His smile reached the other corner of his mouth. Standing up with a little difficulty, concern flashed over Karen's eyes.

"How are you healing?"

Frank rolled his shoulders in a slow stretch and made a dismissing sound. "I've had worse beatings in my life."

Karen frowned but stayed silent. Instead of protesting a losing battle, she let them both stand in silence for a moment. They both gazed upon each other, and it seemed like it was the first moment in the history of their odd relationship that they actually _had_ time to pause. Though his expression seemed unreadable at first, Karen soon realized he was watching her look at him. Her eyes were always so expressive, he must have been reading her like a well-worn page from an old book. Suddenly self-conscious and exposed, she glanced away and moved to her fridge.

"Drink?" she asked. Somehow knowing that this time he would be more likely to stay after finishing the beer made her pleased.

He nodded, "I'd like that."

Popping off the tops of two beers, she made her way over to him and sat down in the love seat opposite the couch. He sat back down on the couch and took a long swig.

More silence.

It seemed to swallow them both, but instead of some pressing and life-threatening inevitable doom looming over them as the weight of their lives and mortality sunk in, the quiet held no such impending doom anymore. Now it was filled with an unspoken connection – a bond confirming all of the heavy shit they had gone through. The kind of silence only shared between two people when they had gone through hell together. Or war together.

The thought of Billy Russo's betrayal nagged at her mind. Bringing it up might have unintended consequences, but considering her connection to Frank, it only seemed right to give her condolences. Frank had given her one last visit. She had to make it count.

"Frank, I'm so sorry about what happened with Billy," she started out and saw his jaw tighten. "I can only imagine what you had to go through in order to bring him to justice."

His shoulders tensed for a moment and then curiously relaxed. "To be honest, I wanted to kill him. I told you as much – that I was going to kill every last man who had a hand in murdering my family."

Karen tilted her head to the side, "What made you stop yourself?"

Frank paused to drink the last of his beer, then looked up at her, his eyes…soulful?

"You."

Karen gawked, "Me? What did I do?"

Setting the empty bottle on the table, he leaned back on the couch. He seemed more at peace with himself than she had ever seen before. "Your words, from when we were along the Hudson that night. When you told me to bring them to the cops, or to you. To expose them, to let the truth of their actions hang the men who did this. For a split second, my hand was on his carotid. One effortless stroke and it would have been over," his voice now a whisper, "But I just couldn't bring myself to do it."

Karen moved to the couch next to him and placed a hand on his forearm. He shifted awkwardly, but not uncomfortably. At first, she thought he was shying away from her touch but soon realized it was because Frank had shown emotion. Emotions were always a struggle for a man who only knew how to cope with two: pure, abject rage, and the fleeting moments of numbness leading up to more rage.

"Frank, you did a good thing," she said reassuringly. "Look at where Billy is now. He's in a coma. He might never wake up. His career, his life, and his liberty destroyed. You took everything from him. And for the rest of his life he will be reviled."

Frank nodded, glancing down at her hand. "I wanted him to know what it felt like to lose everything he ever loved. I realized that unless you hadn't spoken to me and tried to convince me not to kill these men, I would never have considered it. I would have killed Billy, and he never would have known what it felt like to be me."

Karen lifted her hand and affectionately stroked his shoulder, pleased he did not flinch.

"Dying is the easy way out. Letting him live and suffer for years to come will be his penance," her voice grew dark and vengeful.

Frank let out a one syllable chuckle, "Still all heart, huh Karen?"

Another phrase from their first encounter, just like what he had written on the business card.

This time she laughed openly and threw her head back. When she returned his smile, Karen noticed that his body had leaned slightly towards her. He watched her laugh with some restrained relish, though it was possible to miss using an untrained eye.

As their shared smile extended into the next moments, the almost feverish kiss he had given to her cheek came to the forefront of her mind. Then the memory of holding him, eyes closed and heads touching in a silent embrace came to her. As if reading her mind – or her damned expressive eyes – he glanced away and looked down at his shoes. Karen knew it wasn't the right time or place to bring it up, but something about their exchanges had changed since the boat explosion and him disappearing six months ago. In all their most recent interactions, he seemed to truly care for her in ways that mixed between affection to love, to an obsession over her safety, to friendship, to a familial bond. The fact that these lines were in a constant state of change, blurring and overlapping, retracting and advancing, was privately infuriating to her. She needed answers. Hell, she needed closure.

"Frank…" she paused and almost considered changing the subject.

His gaze met hers again, only this time, instead of awkward and classic side-eye when musing about emotions, his expression was soft, almost inviting. Like he knew the inevitable question she was about to ask.

Karen inhaled, gathering inner strength, "Frank, why did you kiss me on the cheek that night?"

He seemed to choose his next words with care, never breaking her stare. "Karen, since the day we first met, you had hope for me. Believed in me. I could have been a raving lunatic, God knows I probably am one. But you never gave up, no matter how much I pushed you. No matter how many times you had cause to leave and let me rot in my Goddamn jail cell." His shoulders squared with hers, commanding even more importance for his next words. "That belief you have is a precious thing." Then, with difficulty, "… _You_ are a precious thing. To me. In that moment, I was running scared. I didn't know if I could protect you. I'd failed once before with my wife and family. It was my job to protect them. And I failed," he repeated with the weight of a man tortured and destined to beat himself with a guilty conscience for the rest of his life. "The last thing I wanted – the thought I could not bear – was having that happen to you."

Karen felt her chest tighten. "I care about you. So much," her voice caught in her throat. "I was so scared I would lose you. I've already lost so much this year."

Images of Matt flooded her mind, but she pushed them back, determined to get another answer out of him.

She swallowed hard to compose herself. "The elevator. When we were…when we were saying goodbye…"

Frank's jaw started to work and his eyes darted away again. He had a ready answer for the kiss, but not the elevator. That made Karen's heart skip a beat. Was there something there? A string to pull on? Between them? Unspoken, yet present?

She pressed onward, "You and I, Frank. We have gone through some serious shit together. Shit that gives you that terrifying moment of clarity right before you die when everyone who has ever meant anything to you flashes by. Shit that weighs on your conscience for months as you try to rationalize through the trauma and the scars."

He listened to her intently, nodding occasionally.

"When people go through the things we went through together, they can grow close." She let the last sentence hang in the air, hoping desperately that he would affirm it with another nod.

He didn't.

"What happened to us doesn't come without developing…feelings for the other person," she tried again.

Nothing. He stared straight ahead, as if he was being drilled by his CO. With each passing sentence, his frown grew more and more prominent until it looked like a scowl. Other people found this face terrifying as they cowered, begging for their lives, and the last expression they would see before being exterminated by Frank Castle: The Punisher. But she had nothing to fear from him. His disapproving reaction made her all the more angry. Didn't he want answers, too? It had been true enough when he was searching for the men responsible for orchestrating his family's murder. Why was he digging his heels in now? What was he keeping from her?

What was he hiding from her?

Karen exhaled sharply, "Dammit, Frank. Answer me!"

He turned away from her, sharply standing up with no hint of his earlier struggle to get to his feet, though his voice echoed with the aggravation of an old torn wound, "What do you want, Karen? Huh? What do you want me to say? That I care about you? I do. You and only one other person has been there for me through this whole fucked up goose chase."

"I know, I was _there_ ," she stood up and raised her voice to match his.

Confrontation she could handle. Confrontation was easy for both of them. Familiar. Sometimes, she thought it was both of their natural state of being. Hell, more than half the time, that was the only way they communicated, and using it certainly provoked him into answering her.

"Cut the shit, you know what I'm asking," she bore her eyes into the back of his skull as he walked away from her, "I held you in that moment. We were _this_ close! Close enough to see into each other's soul, for Christ's sake. You saw the way I looked at you, the way I needed to touch you – to hold you – even for a moment, before you left. When I pulled back to let you go, you looked at me _the same way_."

"And what look was that, Karen?" He spat, feigning incredulity. But this time, his face was an open book. Karen realized that the old torn wound was guilt – guilt that he actually felt something in return, in the wake of his wife's murder; guilt that caused him to react so negatively to her prying. He wouldn't have reacted so strongly if there wasn't some part of him that felt it too.

Her heart rallied.

"Pure. Love." Karen's voice was shaking, "God dammit, I love you. Can't you see that?"

For a moment, she thought he would storm out the door and never return. Seething, he paced back and forth between the fridge and the counter. The times he did pause to look at her before brooding back and forth again, the fire in his wide and dark eyes engulfed her. She saw rage bubbling just underneath the surface. He seemed like he was practically choking on it. His chest had bowed up, nostrils flared and teeth ground in anger. He closed his eyes, let his mouth tighten into a hard line, and inhaled a few short breaths. It took him several minutes before he responded, each one more grueling than the last; each one hardening Karen's heart further as she anticipated an unrequited answer.

Though he had turned to face her, Frank's eyes remained closed, his head hanging down as his hands worked between twitching and balling up into fists.

"Karen," He finally whispered, almost as if her name were a prayer. "Please, don't make it like this between us."

"I can't lie to you, Frank. And I can't keep living a lie." She stood her ground.

He nodded, still refusing to look up at her.

"- Can you?" She finished, resolved to make eye contact.

Their eyes met, and for a brief, beautiful moment, she saw it.

 _The look._

They were a room's distance across from one another, both squared off and practically heaving for air from such confrontation. But she saw it. It was unmistakable.

And then, as fleeting as it had come, it receded back into the vault of his compartmentalized emotions until his expression was unreadable. Unreachable.

Karen felt rage mix with despondency mix with betrayal. She kept her eyes locked on him until fresh tears began to stream down her face. She wanted him to see her reaction; how he hurt her; how she knew he would be lying to himself by denying that it was there. Frank sighed and turned around, gripping his mouth and rubbing the back of his neck as he searched the ground for answers once more. Karen snatched the two empty beers from the table and walked towards him to the trash can underneath the counter. Tossing them loudly into the recycling half, she sharply turned away to increase the distance between them again when Frank grabbed her forearm and spun her around.

Her breath caught in her throat. Such an effortless move made her dizzy. He righted her deftly and took hold of both her shoulders. Feeling the presence of their bodies so close to one another made Karen keenly aware of the heat radiating off of his body. His blood was pumping.

So was hers.

"Karen," he whispered again. His face a flood of unspoken emotions, each one playing out and dancing across his scarred eyebrows, healing cuts and bruises on his cheeks, and those lips…

Without thinking, she closed the distance and embraced him, letting one arm wrap around his shoulders and the other perch the back of his neck as their cheeks pressed together. He followed her movement, holding her comfortably at first, until she whispered back his name. Then she felt his arms tighten until there was no space left between them. Each moment seemed like an eternity as they held each other, their hands momentarily stroking affectionately before taking hold once more.

This silence was blissful suffocation. Karen wanted nothing more than for Frank to be happy. He wanted nothing more than for her to be happy. Why couldn't he connect the two and see that he made her happy?

Finally letting out a defeated exhale, she motioned for them to part. Karen retracted her head far enough apart to give him space to do the same, to let her go. Instead, he leaned in and connected their heads, as they had done in the elevator. Karen held back a grin, closing her eyes and smelling his scent – his real scent. Not gunpowder and blood and sweat. He smelled like a clean shave, washed clothing, and a hint of alcohol. Her heartbeat slowed and the tension and anger she carried moments before seemed so far away and insignificant as their breathing matched. She felt safe, even loved, as he caressed her, slowly rocking side to side on his heels. After another eternity, Karen opened her eyes and pulled slightly away.

She smiled knowingly at him. At least his gesture was an appreciation for the fact that something was clearly shared between the two of them. Karen had embraced him, but Frank had kept her there to link their heads once more – a silent confirmation on his part, an admission that there was something. He just couldn't express it verbally. Perhaps that would make it too real. And that would add too many problems to his life right now. After all, the man was still reeling from the death of his wife and family.

Pushing him to answer her suddenly made Karen's cheeks burn with guilt.

But instead of stepping away after she released him, as he had done in the elevator, Frank continued to hold her, their faces now inches apart. He wasn't letting her go. Karen blinked in disbelief. There, plain as day, was _the look_. Frozen as a statue, his eyes traveled from her eyes to her lips, then back again, clearly considering closing the remaining gap between them to kiss her. Karen's heart lurched and began to pound. She could feel his heart thud with every beat, too. He looked terrified, torn between two lives – the life of a husband, a father, a married man, and a sudden widower, and the life that Karen breathed back into him – his struggle a torturous process to watch. Frank's breathing became ragged. She could see that he was torn between two worlds. His face would contort and twist, and his eyes would focus on her and simultaneously unfocus to some point on the horizon, to some point in his past where she could not follow.

Karen softly massaged the back of his neck as a supportive gesture, reminding Frank that he had locked her in this embrace. For the first time, she felt her touch command such a presence over him that his shoulders trembled slightly in response. She could wait no longer. His face was inches from hers, both of their heads tilted enough to close in for the kiss. She had proclaimed her love. It was only a matter of seconds before she would give in.

"Frank," Karen murmured, "You–"

With a sharp intake of breath, he closed the distance before she could finish.

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Chapter 2 from Frank's perspective. + more explanation on the smooching. Don't worry.


	2. The After

**A/N:** Frank's perspective. About halfway in.

You'll pick it up.

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing!

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The After

 _Why? Why had she pressed the matter? She knew he cared deeply for her. Couldn't knowing that be enough?_

Frank angrily paced back and forth between her fridge and kitchen counter island. Pausing to try and come up with a response, he would falter and continue pacing. Of all the scenarios of their interaction tonight, of all the ways this conversation could have gone down, he least expected this.

Her confession scared the shit out of him. He couldn't understand why she brought up any of this. She knew his past, knew he could never give her the life she wanted or deserved. Not after what had happened to him. How could a revenant survive amongst the living, let alone be with someone as compassionate as Karen?

Glancing at her, she stayed rooted firmly to the ground, staring him down with an expression of expectancy, even urgency. She wanted him to say it back to her – that he loved her too.

 _Love. Happiness. It's all just a kick in the balls waiting to happen, Curtis._

A thrumming in his ears began to pulsate as he clenched his jaw. Anger turned to rage. His blood began to boil just thinking of the last time he let himself fall in love. Karen knew how _that_ had ended. With a bloody playground, 50 dead people, including his wife and children, and a bullet in his head. She also understood that what he knew got his whole family killed. Why, in God's name, would she want to be a part of that - part of his life? His list of enemies had only increased with every body he dropped, and he could never guarantee her safety if she was too close to him.

He read the papers, even the news was under no illusions now about how they had a connection. It might have been Matt and Foggy who were his attorneys, but it was Karen who championed his case from the beginning, working tirelessly behind the curtain and fighting an uphill battle to give Frank a fair trial. The publicity their bond had been exposed to put her in more danger than he could tolerate. He closed his eyes and inhaled a few times.

Fuck his feelings. He had to keep her safe.

"Karen," he tried to sound decisive, but his voice came out sounding soft and resigned. "Please, don't make it like this between us." He couldn't bear the thought of putting her in any more danger than he already had. Deflecting her was the only option. And if it meant she hated him in the end, kicked him out of her apartment and told him never to return, just like last time, then _all the better_. At least she would be safe, and he would not return again.

Karen looked aghast for a moment, not believing he would deny her the truth. That was the thing she appreciated most about him, how brutally honest he always was. After all, despite his many misgivings, he never lied to her.

 _Not unless it would compromise her well-being._

"I can't lie to you, Frank, and I can't keep living a lie," she shook her head, "Can you?"

Her words cut him deep. She knew he was lying - she said the word lie twice in one sentence.

 _Real subtle, Karen._

For a moment, he remembered the way she held him in the elevator; the way she inspected the glass sticking out from his arm and touched it gingerly. He reflexively leaned into her, touching his forehead to hers. The rush of battle pumping through his veins seemed to slow, his stomach churning and his body beginning to scream in protestation of all his accumulated injuries. Their bodies so close, he had breathed in her scent – a distracting mixture of sweat and perfume and the smell of her skin. Knowing her scent made the situation more intimate. The last time he could smell sweat and perfume on a woman…

Flashbacks of his body intertwined with his wife burst through his mind, only this time she was tall, blonde, and had piercing blue eyes.

Frank's breath hitched.

Focusing back on Karen, her expression searched his face for any hint of confirmation that he felt the same.

Suddenly aware of the vulnerability his little daydream put him in, Frank let his expression turn stone cold. Karen had a knack for weeding out his bullshit. If she caught even a whiff of him considering her affections, she would point them out, highlight, and label them for him, if for no other reason than to make sure he knew he could hide absolutely nothing from her. Knowing a woman could do that to him was both exhilarating and terrifying. But then, for Frank those two emotions weren't ever mutually exclusive.

Strengthening his resolve, Frank crossed his arms and lifted his chin in defiance, driving his answer home with a definitive expression. In response, Karen blinked furiously as fresh tears fell down her cheeks, but she matched his stare. She wanted him to see her pain, wanted him to know she knew his answer was bullshit. Karen fucking Page.

It was a kick in the pants. He swallowed hard and let his gaze cast back down to the ground.

The moment that Frank had chosen to live, when Maria beckoned him home to the sweet release of death, Frank could not follow her. His time here was not finished. Frank had to see their deaths avenged; he had to kill Rawlins and Billy. 'I am home,' he had said, letting go of her hand. He had felt his mind jolt, as if it were released from the shackles of his guilt and pain for a brief moment. Everything grew clear, a fog lifted from his conscience long enough to gather the strength to pull free of the zip ties Billy had loosened and tackle Rawlins.

Once Billy was also no longer a threat, he thought of Maria's words again, to follow her into the abyss. He _was_ tempted. And perhaps now it was time. Curtis was right – Frank had been in the pit so long, it felt like home. Frank had always thought that the only way out of the pit was his own death, but Karen's words sharply and unexpectedly stayed his hand.

 _I want there to be an after. For you._

In his mind, when Karen said those words, she was looking down into the pit at his sorry state, and letting down a rope ladder. It was ultimately his choice, but the offer was there.

The question now was: Should he take it?

Back in Karen's apartment, Frank lifted his eyes from the ground and saw her walking towards him. She held two empty beer bottles in her hand and walked up next to him, threw them in the recycling, and turned sharply away. He could handle her anger, even her fury, but this new expression left his heart raked open. She was resentful, defeated…broken.

 _Damn it._

Gritting his teeth, he grabbed her forearm and spun her around. Karen gasped and tried to right herself. Taking hold of both her shoulders, Frank struggled to find the words.

How could he express to her how much he cared? How could he even begin to describe her importance to him? He was no fool – the subtleties of their exchanges were not blind to him. The way she looked at him, the way he looked at her, their hug in her apartment the first time he had made contact in months, the intensity of his kiss on her cheek, the way he reached for Karen after Lewis's bomb went off. There was something there, but confirming it meant that it truly existed. Out in the open. Susceptible to everything. Including danger.

At the same time, Frank couldn't bring himself to lie to her either. That was its own kind of betrayal, sullying everything they'd gone through together. Betrayal ran a long and deep wound in Frank's mind. He was all too aware of how it had left him unhinged. Schoonover. Rawlins. Billy. God knows, there might be more. Karen didn't deserve that kind of pain, or anything even remotely related to it.

Aside from Curtis, she was all he had left, but Frank hardly had to worry about Curtis. The corpsman had survived 3 tours before being honorably discharged with one good leg. Curtis also kept his nose out of trouble. Karen, on the other hand, was a bloodhound when it came to finding trouble. Giving in meant that the target on her back would only grow larger. Hell, it might as well become a damned homing beacon. But lying to her meant he was – at the very least – no better than two-faced Billy and Colonel Schoonover. And Karen already knew his answer was full of shit. She could always tell.

"Karen," Frank whispered, trying to control the weight of his voice.

She gripped his coat and pulled him into a hug, one arm wrapped around his shoulder and the other gripping the back of his neck. After one labored breath, Frank felt his arms encircle her as well. There it was – her scent: several different types of fruit with a hint of coffee, no doubt from the accumulation of the innumerable cups she drank on a daily basis. Then she whispered back his name.

The woman could be absolutely infuriating, wildly careless with her safety, and as stubborn as an ox. But goddamn did her nurturing always put him under a strange spell.

On a visceral level, Frank knew she was now his to keep safe. She was the only woman in his life now. The only one left. That thought made him pull her in tighter, until there was no space between them, and hardly enough room to breathe.

After a long pause, he felt Karen begin to let go. Frank remembered how she'd let go first when they were in her new apartment, and how she'd let go first when they were in the elevator. He read between the lines now, just as he did then. Karen was giving him space – she was just close enough to let him know she wanted Frank in her life, but just far enough away to protect herself if he vanished again. He couldn't blame her. Vanishing was what he excelled at doing.

But now? Frank didn't want to vanish. His feet seemed rooted to the ground, and his arms held Karen there, denying her request to part from their embrace. Frank leaned in, this time initiating, touching their foreheads in silent admission. There was something there. He saw Karen try to hide a grin before her face disappeared as she bowed her head. Suddenly, he was smiling too.

Frank felt her body relax, her breathing slow, and a fulfilled sigh pass her lips.

 _That_ , right there. That reaction. This moment. Her calmness and safety in his arms. _That_ is what Frank wanted her to feel for the rest of her life. Without interruption.

Then he felt Karen interrupt, and begin to break them apart. Once again, she assumed he wanted space.

This time, he didn't.

He saw her eyes shift from contentment to surprise the longer Frank held her there. Within the span of a few more blinks, Karen realized what he was considering. Her lips parted – either in anticipation or from uncertainty – when she noticed his eyes twitching from hers to her mouth. Looking at the base of her neck, he saw that the small pendant she wore was bouncing with every pulse. Her heart was racing. Then again, so was his.

Frank felt her thumb stroke the back of his neck in gentle and small circles. His shoulders trembled slightly, sending goosebumps up his spine. His eyes snapped to hers. She was patiently waiting, but he could see the eagerness in her expression following closely behind. And fast approaching.

Karen wasn't backing down anymore. She sensed now he didn't want the space she normally gave him. And he wasn't backing down either.

This was it.

Their faces just inches apart; their heads both tilted just enough to close in for the kiss. Frank wanted to truly admit there was something there; he wanted to believe that there could be happiness and endless possibilities. He wanted to see her smile for the rest of her life, and wanted to be the source of that smile. He wanted to smell the fruity shampoo she used in her hair and feel her shiver when he buried his face into her neck. Hers was the only touch – the only affection – he had felt from a woman in what seemed like centuries. But that meant he had to let go. Of everything. Maria. The kids. His old life. Letting them go felt like _its_ own betrayal. But then, in the back of his mind, Frank knew that he had already let go of them the night he made his choice.

 _I am home_.

His new shitty apartment might be where he resided. New York City might be where he grew up. And the suburbs might be a place where he once owned a house. But it wasn't home. Not anymore.

 _She_ was home.

 _Karen_ was his home. Now and always.

Frank felt her move restlessly and cleared her throat to speak.

"Frank, you –"

He tilted his head up and felt her soft lips connect to his. The sensation of her initial shock almost made him pull back, fearful that he had read the situation incorrectly. But he instantly felt her hand – the one that was resting at the back of his neck – fervently pull him in. Frank felt an electric jolt, almost identical to the one he felt right as he chose to live and broke free of the zip ties to tackle Rawlins. Feeling her body ache for his was almost as intoxicating as watching the life drain from Agent Orange. Killing was Frank's favorite thing to do. He felt absolutely no remorse and took much pleasure in it. But every body he dropped only sated his bloodlust temporarily, and there was an ever widening, cavernous hole where his heart used to be; where he was now stuck in _the pit_ Curtis loved to talk about so damn much.

Karen had thrown a rope ladder over his pit. The offer was there, but it was ultimately his choice. Frank chose, and now he was climbing as fast as he could up and out of the pit to reach her. Karen was reigniting a different fire in him, dredging up something ancient that he couldn't recognize at first. Frank could almost identify the feeling, like a long-forgotten memory of a time when he was a man who was capable of loving a woman.

Frank gripped her waist and shoved her against the counter of her kitchen island, letting his arms slide to the middle of her back to support her as he leaned in to deepen the kiss. Frank felt her lips vibrate as she moaned, allowing his tongue passage into her mouth. When he finally broke free to inhale, Frank moved to her neck, planting a trail of kisses down the slender column of her neck.

Karen was just as ravenous. She snaked her hands up his chest and in between his coat and shirt. With a deft yank, his shirt tore open and her cool hands explored every uplifted scar they could discover. He shuddered, and this time, he moaned.

Frank could feel her body trembling, but not out of fear. She yearned for him. Ached for him. And damn if there wasn't some animalistic part of him that didn't just want to rip off her clothes, ease her onto the small kitchen island, and take her right then.

 _But…_

Karen must have sensed his sudden hesitation. She paused to look at him and assess his expression. Once again, reading his mind, her hands stopped roaming his chest, but they did stay there; the skin on skin contact its own form of intoxication.

"Hey," she murmured with a smile. _Just checking in._

He smiled back, feeling foolish, "Hey."

She was breathy and still trying to conceal her lust for him, but she managed to keep her voice low and soft, "Are you…alright?"

Frank chuckled into the fruity scent of her hair as he hugged her in their interlude. "I'm _better_ than alright."

She giggled, which was all he wanted to hear. But then her face grew somber as she pulled away, "Frank, if you need time –"

"I just…" he paused, unable to think of an ending to the sentence. Luckily, she was Karen fucking Page, and they never needed words to understand each other. He loved her for that.

"I know," she whispered, cupping his cheek and smiling supportively. "Let's take this slow, okay?"

All Frank could manage was a nod, turning his head away as he could feel the weight of her gaze.

He ground his teeth. _Jesus, Frank, you're a goddamn tease._

"It's okay, _really_ ," Karen dipped her head until Frank's eyes met hers. "I want to do this right. And if we're going to do this right, we have to pace it."

She leaned in and pressed a tantalizingly soft kiss to his cheek, wrapping her arms once more around his neck. He followed, tightening his grip around her waist and burying himself into her curls again. Breathing her in helped to calm his frayed nerves. It became almost reflexive now.

Karen now represented the two words that scared the shit out of him: _the after_ _._

Frank had finally opened up to the group of vets that Curtis was working with. He had admitted to them how he was afraid and did not know what to make of his new life now, or what to do _next_. Karen's voice popped into his head again, reiterating the same thing.

 _I want there to be an after. For you._

Up until this moment, Frank had no time to consider an answer for that open-ended statement. To be honest, it wasn't even practical to entertain the idea that there was an 'after' for him. He fully expected – even yearned – to die the night he and Billy confronted one another. It was implied that they would fight to the death. They were equally matched in strength and skill. The odds seemed likely that both would die killing the other, and it seemed almost poetic that he should die in the same place as his family.

If it weren't for Agent Madani breaking Billy's concentration, Frank might never have had the chance to gain the upper hand. She nearly died giving Frank the opening he needed to turn the fight against Billy. If it weren't for her, he probably would have died.

Ultimately, Frank had planned for an ending, and instead he received a generous and forgiving new beginning, free of prison, nationally exonerated. And now Karen, charging her way fearlessly into his life.

Frank recognized the long-forgotten feeling now, as he held her and rocked them slowly side to side on his heels.

 _Completion_.

She was making him feel _whole_ again. She was making him feel _human_ again.

Frank could feel her smile into the side of his neck. He released her just far enough for her to see his arched brow, displaying his curiosity.

 _What is it?_

Karen blushed. "You told me to hold onto him. To use two hands," she swallowed hard, motioning to how both of her hands were now clasped tightly to his coat.

Frank could feel his eyes redden, as they had in the elevator. Hooking one lock of hair behind her ear, he leaned in and planted a slow kiss on her lips, taking several seconds to savor the moment. Their heads locked together once again, and their breathing matched.

"I love you, Frank," Karen's voice pinched.

His hold pulled her flush to his body, where he whispered back, "I love you, too."


End file.
